Imperator
by thevampirealucard
Summary: The galaxy believed the Sith were dead after the fall of Darth Krayt. They were wrong. Now, Lucifer, Dark Lord of the Sith, who has flagrantly and flippantly disregarded the Rule of Two, ascends into the light to challenge his enemies. And when he emerges, he brings a fleet the likes of which have not been seen since the Second Age of Revan with him. M for V, MC, ML. R&R.
1. Prologue: Punctus Contra Punctum

_Punto_

The bridge of the Obliterator-class Sith Dreadnought was filled with the bustling of men in uniforms, going about the operation of the massive vessel. It stood not alone, however; about it several dozen Executioner-class Sith Battleships (or, alternatively Advanced Super Star Destroyers) flew in an escort formation, followed by several hundred Interloper-class Star Destroyers and Insidious-class support craft. There was no chaos; it was well-machinated, expertly-practiced order aboard every ship in the fleet, the fleet that understood not of Darth Bane's moronic "Rule of Two" and knew only that the rule of the galaxy had been usurped from them, its rightful owners. Amidst it all sat Darth Lucifer, the last and greatest of the lords of the Sith, meditating and reveling in the order he felt, the presence of all the Dark Jedi commanding their own sections of the armada, all contributing to the concerted, focused, _united _will to dominate. It was _he _who had made this possible, _he _who had brought together like-minded Force-sensitive brats and adolescents, turned them first into killing machines and then into co-operative _Übermenschen der nacht_, ready to serve him for the sake of the plan. _He_; not Darth Sidious, not Darth Krayt and most certainly _not _Darth Caedus–_he_, Darth Lucifer, former apprentice of the ghost of Darth Revan, now the second most powerful Sith Lord in galactic history, had brought back a unified strength not seen since his old master had, for the second time, unleashed the full fury of the Infinite Fleet upon the same galaxy that was theirs to conquer.

He was master of it all; master of each of the Dark Jedi who commanded his capital ships, master of each uniformed soldier operating the craft, master of each soldier brandishing their new phaser rifles, crysknives and cryswords in their shuttles awaiting deployment as they donned their new, intimidating armor that gave full visibility, protection and aim assistance whilst in combat through use of a HUD and activated their personal shield generators, master of each Kindjal starfighter, screaming through space in formation, master of each apprentice training for hours aboard their masters' personal vessel's dummy course, trying to achieve the rhythmic song that encapsulated lightsaber combat, master of each Dark Jedi Master, each Sith Sorcerer and Warrior who understood and had achieved total control of their respective skills with Battle Meditation, regardless of whether or not, like the legendary Bastila Shan, lover and apprentice of Darth Revan, they possessed the innate, _instinctual _gift. And because he was the acknowledged master, for the sake of their mission he had studied each and every Sith Lord that preceded him even as he had to suppress his urge to retch at their stupidity, their hubris, their _weakness _that caused them to make the mistakes that led to their downfall.

More specifically and pertinently, he had learned _never_ to underestimate the power wielded by an apprentice's envy. One of Revan's only mistakes.

Within the isolation chamber he used to meditate, the Dark Lord of the Sith, Lucifer the First, smiled. It was not a nice smile, not the smile one used to greet a friend or to express happiness or humour; it was the smile of the Cheshire Cat, part smirking, part smiling in nigh-orgasmic excitement at the fact that everything–yes, _everything_–was going according to plan.

_Soon, very, very soon, everything will be as it should._

He laughed, maniacally, in anticipation of his ultimate victory.

Through the Force, every sensitive being in the galaxy heard it…

…and cringed in horror.

_Contrappunto_

Somewhere, in a dojo hidden on the planet Korriban, birthplace of the Sith, Gladius, the apprentice of the Sith Warrior Darth Furor, sat cross-legged on the mats and meditated. From birth he had been trained–trained to keep a leash on his emotions, to be dead inside, a husk. He was more a computer than a person, and that made him…useful for his master's purposes. Granted, it made him a less-than-ideal Force user, but his master had told him that his talent with it was so small that trying to master it would distract him from what he was good at–the lightsaber. He did as he had been taught; he imagined a Flame amidst an endless Void. He fed whatever miniscule, underdeveloped emotions his dreams had brought into the Flame to be consumed utterly, leaving behind only the Void to take into himself. Filling himself with the all-consuming dead calm of the Void, he studied his lightsaber for a bit. Then, once he _knew _his weapon, he leaped up and initiated the training program his master had designed, the difficulty option set to Level Eleven. Instantly and without thought, he dodged and wove like an eel through laser fire and aggressors, waiting for exactly the right time to strike and, igniting his lightsaber, driving it through his pretend foes, one by one.

He was _Angelus Mortis _on the battlefield, quick and efficient, surgical and precise with every kill he registered. The tempo he kept was stable, but adaptive; according to the targets that appeared and how fast each one was, he raised it or lowered it back to its normal rate. He _heard_ it, the flow of battle like music within himself, yet more sublime than any piece he had ever heard. His maneuvering was not restricted to two dimensions; he leaped and slid above and below, truly a master of fighting in air and ground conditions, three-dimensionally. And yet, as the timer reached zero, he felt a practice sword at his neck, ending the simulation. Calmly, he sheathed his lightsaber and exited the training chamber, turning off the computer terminal controlling the practice droids. Fury flashed through him in that second, washing over him so quickly that no block could hold it at bay, nor could any Flame consume it without in the process having itself consumed utterly.

He screamed in anger like a child, throwing his head back and howling in fury. How could he not defeat the penultimate level? Was he not a master of the Ataru form of lightsaber combat? He had trained to be so since birth–or so he had been told–painstakingly and to the exclusion of almost all else, so why was it this level that was impassable for him? Lord Furor had said that he expected a competent Sith Assassin out of him when he returned, so why was it that out of all other lessons in his short life _this_ was the one that refused to surrender its secrets to him? The rush of questions and virulent emotion brought the boy to his knees, clutching his head with wide eyes, sweating profusely.

It took him an hour of struggling, helpless, amidst that flood of anger and doubt for him to put his mind back in order. Finding once again the Void, he stood up and took a shuddering step towards the chamber. After all, as his master said, persistence was the universal imperative for survival. Having now hopefully a more secure grip upon his emotions, he retrieved the holodisk of his practice run and walked slowly towards the holocron projector upon which he would watch and study the replay of his trial. It had been pressed upon the boy for years upon years that the only way to improve once one had learned all the techniques was to study one's mistakes and _adapt _so that the same series of errors would not be made twice. It was sound advice to the boy, who had been trained to be not only an assassin, but something else altogether–a _mentat_–and he intended to follow it, master or no.

_Elsewhere_

Jet Skywalker, son of Cade, Knight of the Jedi Order, breathed deeply of the air of Dagobah within the hut that once belonged to the legendary Master Yoda, within which his ancestor, Luke, had learned the bulk of the skills he had employed to defeat Darth Vader and thus, by extension, the First Galactic Empire, setting it into a tail-spinning downfall. It was his pilgrimage, made by every Padawan upon the conclusion of his apprenticeship now, to understand the great fall and resurrection of both the Jedi High Council and the Order itself.

The Jedi was disturbed.

He stood from his meditations–with permission from Master Yoda's Force-shade, of course–and bolted out to his ship. The vessel–a variation upon the original X-Wing starfighter–lifted off and made for the communications relay on the satellite orbiting the planet. Once there, his urgency aided by his special Force sensitivity, he connected to the relay keyed the comm frequency of the Jedi High Council into his ship's holographic projector. The wizened and tired visage of Master K'Khruhk was the first thing he saw, followed by the dark bags that surrounded the bloodshot eyes of each of the others. Greeted with this sight, Jet knows that it would be unnecessary to inform them of what he had _felt _through his connection with the Force, but he said it anyways.

"Honored Masters," he began. "This is Jet Skywalker. The Sith…"

He struggled with his words, with the unstoppable _terror _that overflowed its banks, that callously blasted apart any barrier he had erected to halt its advance, until it came to fill him, to encompass every inch, every _iota_ of his being. He swallowed loudly as he fought for time, precious time…

Then suddenly, he had it.

"…Masters, the Sith…they have returned."


	2. Chapter 1: Veni, Vidi, Vici

_Darth Lucifer_

I smiled to myself; my fellows had most certainly heard it, and to them it was as exultant as it was for me. After all, they –all but one of them, at least–shared my goals, and thus knew and agreed with my sentiment. But the Jedi…the Jedi, whilst undoubtedly hearing it, would have been most decidedly…less fortunate in their response, in the feelings it elicited from them. _The fools_, I scoffed mentally. _This will be almost too easy…_

Or, of course, it would have been–if not for my wayward apprentice. Each time I felt his Force signature, I had to bite back a hiss. He had been extremely uncooperative, almost to the point of impotence while I trained him. The field of power surrounding him that by all rights should have been scarlet and sanguine–except for myself, as your aura darkened as you went deeper and deeper into the Dark Side–was so miniscule that it ignited my instinctual fury every time I felt the Warrior's presence. The absolute gall, for such a weakling to stand before one such as I and plot my demise so clumsily! But it was not his lot to be my heir, not at all. It was his lot to serve as my Wrath whilst training my _true _apprentice, the one who was to inherit my power, in the way of the lightsaber. Although, from what I cared to glean without_ retching_ at his pathetic jealousy, his childish pettiness, his incompetence had bled into _that _area as well, instructing him in the use of only a single lightsaber. I sighed as I remembered that; it seemed that I would have to teach him the method of dual wielding as well as what it truly meant to be Sith.

"My lord," a voice rang out, distorting into reverberation due to my meditative status. Inwardly, I sighed, emerging my consciousness from my connection to the Dark Side to address the no doubt important information that my subordinate had for me to hear. Doing so, I turned about in my throne-like seat just as simultaneously the chamber, keyed to my unusual vital signs as it was, opened like an oyster to reveal my form.

"Yes, captain," I replied with slight exasperation. "What is it?"

"The vanguard has reported back with navigational data," she said. "We have just passed through the Outer Rim and entered Alliance space. There is an unusual level of comm activity that we're picking up out there, though."

_They responded faster than anticipated. It does them credit_, I thought, a grin breaking out across my face. It only widened as the captain's eyes widened in barely-suppressed terror; I could only imagine what it would have been like to be her right now. "Excellent, _captain_," I said, emphasizing her title. "Tell the other capital ships to remain alert and ever-vigilant, and to proceed to Patrol Schedule Beta. The fools might be quick enough to mobilize and divert their fleets in the sector, and though we will most certainly best them in any engagement, it is best for us to not be caught unaware. Is that all?" She nodded her assent. "Then you are dismissed…_captain_." With that I re-sealed my meditation chamber and returned to my meditation, intending to subsume myself back into my bond with the Dark Side.

The great thing about being the Dark Lord of the Sith whilst defying the Rule of Two was that there were many times when I could simply sit and _meditate _without a subordinate irking me for advice every five seconds–that there were people who understood our purpose and could handle the lower, menial decisions that were still significant enough to warrant the attention of a Sith. This was one of those times. For a moment I contemplated the beauty and well-hidden Force sensitivity of the captain with whom I had just finished speaking. She was as intelligent and competent as she was attractive–and she was remarkably attractive. In that moment I considered teaching her in the ways of the Sith, but then thought better of it. If she was to belong to anyone, it was my heir. I could see that through the Force; either she would become a Dark Lady, a Sith Mistress, or not, but either way would not be up to me, but rather _his _decision. It was for the best–I could barely keep track of my own pleasure harem on Dromund Kaas as it was without trying to add a young, driven woman to their company. I chuckled as I reflected upon the substantial irony of the whole situation, that one such as I might be hailed by the shade of Revan himself _and _Naga Sadow as the single most powerful Force user in history–even more so than the one who bore the absurdly ridiculous title of "vergence", Anakin Skywalker.

I was born among refugees on Dantooine, then sold into slavery at the age of three. I watched as they cut my father–a writer–down and had their Gamorrean guards rape my mother. It would have been a great kindness for them to have killed me as well, or at least sell us to different parts of the galaxy. As it stood, however, I saw as my mother slowly abandoned me, one of the few women to become pleasure slaves in Hutt space who gave into the carnal lifestyle the Hutt crime lords were known for. As she grew more and more proficient in her tasks, I went unfed, malnourished on the streets of Nar Shaddaa, having to fight to survive. Fortunately, I was gifted with what I now know to be a rare intellect. To put it bluntly, my IQ was well into genius-level–one hundred fifty-two at last count–and I used every ounce of that intelligence to survive, morphing it into the cunning and ruthlessness needed for a small child to live in the slums of Nar Hutta's most wealthy moon.

And believe me, I did not simply survive.

I _thrived_. Pure and simple.

…Until, at last, they found a use for me.

It wasn't a particularly demeaning occupation, I suppose, to be trained by the Hutts' contacts of various races in how to kill. Being a mercenary, an assassin, was what they deemed to be the best use of my talents. The training, however…though to watch my mother succumb turned me numb, the training the Hutts put their potential militants through was physical and psychological torture unlike almost any that I have experienced. It completed then what I was becoming–ruthless, hard and cold as steel, a proper killer. The best, even. Until, of course, at the age of fourteen, I was purchased by a member of Darth Krayt's retinue, Darth Talon herself. Under her infrequent tutelage, I learned of the truth of the Force, of the existence of the Dark Side, of Darth Krayt's One Sith regime; under her more frequent purges of her innate lust–for that was why I had been purchased, to serve as a glorified pleasure slave myself–I learnt the power and nature of both pain and sex, coupled with the fact that I was Force-sensitive, which was why she chose me and not any of hundreds of others. And while I will always be grateful to the Twi'lek, her influence was not what made me what I am; however, it did put me on the path that would lead me to where I stood now.

Following Cade Skywalker's besting of Krayt and Talon's scramble into hiding, I was simply tossed aside. Capitalizing upon this, I secured transportation and anonymity, scouring the galaxy for a way in which I might be able to exploit the innate talent of which she had made me aware, my search leading me eventually to the Sith Academy on Malachor V. It was in that solitude that I learned from the Force shade of Darth Revan himself how to unite with and control the Force itself, becoming, in essence, his apprentice. I could feel him inside me now, as a matter of fact, as impressed as I was at what we had achieved. Below him were the shades of the different Sith masters, but they had not proven strong enough and had what meager knowledge of the Dark Side that Revan did not already possess subsumed into my greater being. Some years into my learning, when I was but eighteen, I had learnt all I could from Traya's so-called "academy", and so, taking Revan's spirit into myself, I commandeered one of the wrecks in the planet's surface–the Ebon Hawk, which Revan noted with some degree of mirth–and left the system. Scouring the galaxy, I had been able to retrieve HK-47's memory banks and cognitive circuitry, thus begetting the LK Advanced Series of Sith assassination droids, one of which HK-47 now inhabited, on the way to each of the Sith sanctuaries, learning all I could. Virtually independently, I constructed and mastered the two supple, minimalistic but ornate lightsabers that accompanied me still, recovered each of Revan's relics–the Mask of Tulak Hord, the Gauntlets of Marka Ragnos and the Star Forge-made Robes of Darth Revan –and learned the true power of the Force. From the shattered remnants of the One Sith regime, Force-sensitive children and adolescents of the Outer Rim and the Hutts' slave rings, I gathered to myself an army of Dark Side adherents. The original twelve carried the title of Sith, the rest with either Dark Jedi or Neophyte. We absconded to Dromund Kaas once I put together my particular selection of members to be in our revivalist group, and from there began to sift through the notes and technological findings of Sith Lords throughout the ages, right up to Krayt himself. Using these, we were able to fabricate a fleet of superior starships, standing poised to unleash upon the galaxy a fury unlike any it had ever seen. We had already conquered Hutt Space, which was from where, as tribute, I ended up receiving a menagerie of sex slaves of various races–though mostly Twi'lek, as they sold for the highest sum–as my personal harem, to be used at my discretion.

**And now, it is high time to show the Triumvirate just how deep the slow Kindjal cuts**, said Revan's ghost within my brain. **High time to remember what they all seem to have forgotten after my disappearance–that their place is beneath and in service to **_**us**_**.**

My lips quirked at that, signifying my assent. It was time to bring back the old, true order to the galaxy, the order that saw the use of the Rakatan Star Forge for the first time in millennia, the order that brought the Republic and the Jedi Order to its knees without any rebellion to disrupt its dominance.

The Revanite Order.

"My lord!" came the captain's urgent cry yet again, this time accompanied by her pounding on the chamber with a closed fist. I came out of my trance and bade the egg-shaped isolation pod to open, turning to face the distressed captain.

"My lord," she said again in relief. "We've detected an enemy fleet in the vicinity, and they're moving on an intercept course. We need your guidance, Great One." She finished, bowing her head before me in submission. I, in turn, brought a single gloved finger beneath her chin and brought it up to meet my gaze.

"Hush, child. Give the order to release the Kindjals and engage the recalcitrants," I said soothingly and firmly. She nodded in acknowledgement, affixing a calm, confident mask atop her formerly panicked expression before striding out commandingly and relaying my orders across the armada. I walked slightly behind her from my chamber beyond the earshot and field of vision of the operators to the edge of the bridge proper, standing beside her and watching with the benefit of the Force, casting it out into the cold and empty vacuum of space to search for any Jedi Knights who might have been committed to voyage with this gathering of interlopers and fools.

The grin that broke across my face when I found them was enough to make several operators cringe in an instinctive fear. It was something I absorbed with glee and delight, but I still remembered that it was not my purpose to make them fear me. While from the strong it elicits admiration and ambition, fear breeds resentment and envy in the petty and weak, who are far more populace than the superior beings who would take my power as a motivation to actively work towards their own advancement. I sighed inwardly, but permitted in that same instant a small, tight smile; once I finished the Alliance and the Jedi, the opportunists and vagabonds–the scum of galactic society–would be tossed aside as chaff is from wheat, making way for the stronger, truer, _purer_ exemplars of what it means to be Sith…like my heir.

"Captain," I said. "Order the _Executioner _and the _Inquisitor _to engage those two Correllian corvettes on the right flank. Repurpose Kindjal Squadrons Red and Slip-Tip from the Alpha and Gamma wings of the First Attack Dragon to engage the blockade runners concealing themselves in that asteroid field." I indicated the ring of space debris around the fourth and sixth planets of the system. "Release Katar units Alpha-Epsilon and Gamma-Theta and have them run Protocol Eighteen along the micro-nebula on the left flank. And tell them to remember to use the new Jäger-class nets this time; I don't want the micro-nebula's magnetic field to scramble their sensors."

I fell silent while she had my orders relayed across the armada, smirking beneath my hood, my arms crossed. Excitement overtaking me, I watched from the eyes of a pilot as the Kindjals closed in on the blockade runners upon which the Jedi strike-teams travelled, felt his satisfaction as his squadron harried and finally bested the formation of four ships, using the asteroid field and the starfighters' superior maneuverability to deliver quick and precise jabs to key points on the vessels' structures, causing them to explode with a glorious brilliance. I floated amongst the Jäger networked seeker mines that were deployed as I ordered amongst the cationically charged hydrogen cloud of the micro-nebula, then as the Kindjal escort the Katars travelled with herded the left flank of the fleet into range, and as my enemies' sensors failed, I watched them get annihilated, crushing the flank and crippling the fleet with that flank now exposed. Like good hunters, I saw my pilots close in on that side, going in for the kill, as the Correllian corvettes combusted and nineteen Jedi Knights and Padawans died in fire. It was _glorious_–a symphony of superiority and retribution, and I reveled in every second of it, as did the Force-sensitive core of my forces.

**This reminds me of the Infinite Fleet**, Revan's shade reminisced. **When dearest Bastila employed her Battle Meditation against the Republic at the Star Forge whilst I went to reclaim my rightful title from my wayward former apprentice, **_**this **_**was the result**. He fell silent for a short time, remembering, no doubt, the time when he was the greatest and most powerful Sith Lord in the galaxy, he who vanquished Mandalore himself.** I agree. This **_**is**_** glorious.**

_Glad to have your approval, Lord Revan_, I replied with a wry thought. _But this is only the beginning. Stage One is reaching completion–we have shown ourselves to the galaxy, and after this battle, they will have learned to become paralyzed with terror at the mere mention of our might._

**Tell them, then. Tell them who we are**, Revan goaded eagerly. Beside him, the shades of Ajunta Pall, Marka Ragnos, Tulak Hord and Naga Sadow materialized, the five most prominent spirits whose souls and dark powers dwelled within me emerging to make the declaration of our return, to sear it into the minds of each Force-sensitive man, woman and child across the galaxy, to be passed down from parent to child in hushed, terrified whispers forevermore.

I nodded, another grin breaking my face in twain. _**My Name**_, I projected throughout the Force, boosted by my ethereal compatriots, _**is Legion; for We are Many. We are the Fire; We are the Storm. We are the Cleansing Fury and the Killers of Light. We are the Dragons of the Force, whose fell powers declare them masters of all the world.**_

_**We are the Sith.**_

_**And We have returned.**_

_I am the Morning Star_, I projected alone. _The Accuser and the Adversary. I am your superior, the arbiter of your fate. We alone have the right to rule. And it is time for us to reclaim our throne from the foul usurpers who now steward it._

A more perfect punctuation could not be asked for; the reverberations echoed endlessly throughout the Force, alerting all who could feel its power to our message, and to end it off, the Sith among us with the innate talent of Battle Meditation finally centered themselves and projected their power to encapsulate the engagement. The last thought was delivered with the annihilation of the last of the enemy fleet, carried on a wave of the deaths of thousands of men and women.

"My lord," addressed the captain, kneeling next to me and facing my left side. "Intelligence reports indicate that that was the conglomeration of the only military forces in the Mid Rim sectors. The last of the Outer Rim territories have concluded their negotiations with our agents, having decided upon unconditional surrender." Both of us shared a smirk at that; with the Hutt fleet annihilated and their power base, the foundation of their vast criminal empire, shattered, the Outer Rim were helpless with no room or means with which to negotiate. That outcome was certain. "The bulk of the Imperial and Alliance militaries are guarding the Core Systems, but we have the ability now to disrupt trade throughout the galaxy, and through economic means we may exterminate them. In a war of attrition, we have just gained an upper hand."

"An excellent development, Captain…" I did not struggle to remember her name, my hesitation being caused simply by the act of sifting through reams and reams of mental files before I matched the face with a name. "…Onasi, wasn't it?" She bobbed her head once, sharply, to communicate to me that I was right. "Tell the armada to regroup. Now that we've destroyed the only fleet in this part of the galaxy, it is now up to the ground troops to consolidate our grip on our new territory. Initiate Organization Schedule Nova," I ordered, waving her off to dismiss her before gazing at the devastating carnage before me. One by one the ghosts of the ancient Sith Lords once again subsumed themselves in my being, leaving only Revan behind. I could tell that he was shaking with mirth at the irony inherent in the idea of one of his most obstinate former companion's descendants joining with the Dark Side and serving–quite admirably, I might add–with the Sith military. I must admit, the irony has elicited many a laugh from me in the past as well, but now was the time to press the advantage. "Oh, and Captain Onasi?" I called. She looked up from her place speaking to the overseer of the communications console operators to me. "Please tell the members of the Council to adjourn to their meditation chambers. They and I have much to discuss, and it is time to plan our next move." With that, I turned and walked back to the egg-shaped isolation pod, confident that my orders to the captain would be obeyed. I sat in my chair and turned to the terminal where the holographic projection would be received, and received a short burst of satisfaction as I realized that my faith in Captain Onasi was warranted. That was good; the trials of loyalty, after all, had to be administered in increments from mundane to extreme, and she had taken the first step.

"Darth Sammael, Darth Beelzebub, Darth Leviathan, Darth Azazel, Darth Shaitan, Darth Azrael, Darth Abaddon, Darth Asmodeus, Darth Molloch, Darth Lilith, Darth Be'lial, Darth Astaroth, welcome. I am glad to see that you are all in attendance," I said, making a proper greeting to all twelve of my original followers. "I am sure that you have no doubt received the Intelligence report stating that we have just annihilated the entirety of the Triumvirate's starship force stationed here. As such, _we_ now hold the proverbial high ground, and I would say that it would be a wise strategy to fall into a defensive position as we land ground troops on the planets we have just acquired to pacify the native populaces. I am certain that there are new Force-sensitive bloodlines to be brought into the fold, and as the situation stands, I believe that _that _is where we should focus the attentions of our forces–in consolidating our new territory and redoubling our efforts to train more Sith progenitors to rebuild the ranks of the users of the Dark Side. There are precious few of us left in the galaxy, all of which–if the foolish Rule of Two were still enforced–could be wiped out in an _instant_. Now, whilst we have made a great deal of progress in recruiting new Acolytes, we can always push further and harder."

"I second the motion," Lord Asmodeus declared. "Our master, Darth Lucifer, has hit, I think, upon the truth of the matter–that there are far too few of us left to be pushing into the Core Systems just yet, as that is where the bulk of the Triumvirate's forces will be stationed, and whilst as Sith we do not shy from combat, the chances of irreparable casualties amongst the ranks of our Order are simply far too high to warrant a concerted push until we bring these systems to heel, one…by…one."

"As do I," Lady Lilith spoke, winking at me lasciviously. I gave her only a slight smirk in return; whilst she was quite strong in the Force, from a sexual perspective, her kind of chaff are the same variety as those which may be used up and swiftly cast away. Still, one must keep up appearances–even _if _Stage Two succeeded.

"No objections?" Darth Sammael asked, looking around. "Then the motion carries. Our next move is the consolidation of the recent acquisitions to our…empire, as it were, by way of establishing our martial superiority on the ground as it is in space. Now, on to the decision of who will lead?" he proposed.

"My apprentice, Darth Furor, whilst not being the most intelligent, is an adequate warrior, quite aggressive and is well-acquainted with following orders. I nominate him _Baijan'm'hael_," I offered.

"Agreed. We have all seen Furor in action, and I personally can vouch for the fact that as a front-line commander, he is second to none. But what then of the open position of _Tsorovan'm'hael_? We need one who is at least a competent strategist and someone to serve as his–or her–adjutant. Preferably, one who is an experienced soldier, which means that the best one suited to this task would have to be a Marauder, Furor being by his own admission a Juggernaut," Lord Be'lial asserted.

"What of my apprentice, Darth Proelium?" Lord Azazel volunteered. "He is an accomplished master of the Jar'Kai style and is a skilled Force user. Further, his grasp of military tactics, while not particularly brilliant or sublime, is…impressive."

"I disagree," stated Lord Molloch. "My apprentice, Darth Cruciet, is more than qualified to lead the armies of the Sith–_our _armies–into battle, and…"

"No," I objected smoothly from behind my steepled fingers. "Whilst members of the re-formed Order of the Sith are rare, those with enough innate strength in the Force to become accomplished Inquisitors–a group to which Cruciet undeniably belongs, given his performance in the Academy back on Korriban and the Coliseum on Nar Shaddaa–are far rarer still. Azazel's apprentice, Proelium, will fill the position of _Tsorovan'm'hael_, and Cruciet may be his adjutant. After all, we need someone studious to catalogue the Neophytes that will enter the Order from amongst the peoples we are going to need to pacify. Further, I believe that he is far enough along in his training to be trusted with the task of evaluating and composing reports on the abilities and aptitudes of each Force-sensitive he comes across, and thus determining their fates."

The silence that followed my pronouncement would have made the dead uneasy. It was not that I knew not why; it was a rare event for me to intercede in assignment deliberations, but not because they thought me inept in that task–simply that they believed it, for the most part, to be below me. Nevertheless, my input carried a great deal of weight behind it in meetings of the Dark Council, so they left me in little doubt that my decision would be accepted as the final word on the matter.

I was correct.

"To lead the consolidation effort, then, Darth Proelium will be named _Tsorovan'm'hael_; Darth Cruciet, his adjutant; and Darth Furor shall be _Baijan'm'hael_. What of the troops needed? Which units?" Darth Astaroth asked.

"I can spare the Ninth and Tenth Katar Wings from my personal command to commence bombing operations on our…rebellious planets," Darth Abaddon offered. "As for ground troops, well, we all know that that is really the purview of Lord Shaitan more so than myself–or any of us herein gathered."

"The Eighteenth through Seventy-Sixth Legions I shall assign for infantry duty, the Ninety-Eighth through One Hundred Sixty-Second Heavy Vehicles Divisions for artillery and assault," Darth Shaitan proclaimed languidly. "Though I would suggest that we also assign a few _Executioner_-class ships as well, for a…show of strength."

"Very well," spoke Lord Beelzebub. "The _Inquisitor_, the _Scimitar_, the _Tarquin_, the _Marauder_, the _Overlord _and the _Overseer_ shall form a task force to provide orbital support in the coming battles. Shall that be all?"

"No," I said, sitting up. "Stage One is complete, and I would remind you of the paramount importance of keeping to your roles in Stage Two of the operation, which is to commence shortly." I sighed. "Furor is certain to make his move soon, and when the dust settles, I would like to have a solid population of loyalists for when the plan has reached the state of completion."

"Of course, my lord," Darth Azrael assured me. "We shall all keep to the plan."

"Very good," I said, a smile creeping onto my face.

"_Very_ good…"


	3. Chapter 2: Divide Et Impera

_Darth Lucifer_

It had been three months since my forces–_our_ forces–crushed all that the Triumvirate had patrolling the Mid-Rim Systems, and the battle continued to favor us to an overwhelming degree. The enemy's planetary garrisons provided almost as little resistance, holding out for as long as they did only because the peoples native to the planets their precious governments had all but abandoned to their fates remembered all too well the administration of that _imbecile,_ Darth Krayt, and wished never to be under the boot-heel of the Sith again–or perhaps were so terrified at that prospect that it impelled them to fight like the cornered animals they proved to be. It was a hostile environment that our soldiers had been introduced to, but they were true Sith; attrition did not faze them, nor did it much occur. The discipline we valued so highly, the kind of honor we so exhorted, kept them strictly to their rations, some units even going so far as to not consume them all to stretch them in the increasingly unlikely event of a waylaid supply barge, and cohesion between our forces greatly exceeded those of the Alliance–for it was only in the case of worlds that we had annexed from the Alliance that we encountered resistance; the Imperial territories, seeing our might, resolved not to fight in vain, and eventually becoming adverse to the idea of rebelling at all. If there was to be one thing that historians recounted to be the defining factor in the suppression of opposition, we had done our best to make sure that they named it to be the increased trade, civil order and advanced infrastructures we implemented.

In the time since the complete pacification of Imperial holdings in the Mid-Rim, the Triumvirate, according to our informants, the Genoharadan–who came highly recommended by Revan's shade–had done little more than debate over what was to be done; the Jedi wished for an immediate, unilateral counteroffensive, the Empire wished to repair its lost trade and its fleet, and the Alliance wished to defend the Inner Rim and the Core Systems at any cost, making sure that the other two emissaries at the table knew that for the Alliance, that one decision was of paramount importance to their government and citizenry. Meanwhile, our armada had only grown, being bolstered by reinforcements that were still in construction when we began our campaign. It was enough to put a smile on my face; everything was going according to plan, exactly as it should.

At that moment, I was onboard my flagship, the _Pandæmonium_, leading a strike force deep into what was left of enemy space without actually intruding into the Inner Rim itself. The Expansion Region was the contested area in this instance, sections of what was left of our armada after many dozens of vessels had been assigned to garrison and patrol duty in case any of the enemy governments tried a covert, guerrilla incursion into our territory attacking in scheduled rotations at different points in the zone, keeping the enemy forces harried and not allowing them a moment's rest. I was pleased at our progress heretofore; boarding parties and captured prisoners had brought to the Jedi all the intelligence I wanted for them to have waiting at their disposal. More spoken of than my former master, Darth Revan, at the apex of his first campaign was I, and according to the spies and covert defectors that riddled the ranks of the Jedi Order, even the greatest and most powerful of their current masters spoke of me with no paucity of fear, despite the stringent and rigid series of restrictions the Jedi were supposed to impose upon their emotions so as not to prove susceptible to the Dark Side. At this I was pleasantly surprised; many things had I foreseen when plotting the return of the Sith, but among them was not the fear of the Jedi High Council, despite the fact that, due to my former master's strict training regimen, I could outdo even the vaunted Master Yoda in any area of battle–with the Force, mine was the more potent offense, the greater measure of endurance, the superior variability of means for assault; with the lightsaber, in form, tactics, reach, speed, strength and agility he was by far my inferior. Not even Revan thought it possible to so thoroughly paralyze the masters of the Order with fear and panic that it would be made plain to a spy posing as a fully trained Jedi Knight, let alone the numerous other Knights and Padawans whose reports supported the observations. Still, it was a welcome deviation; instead of sabotaging my plans, the tangible terror the Jedi High Council allegedly expressed would expedite them to a great degree.

Activity on the bridge escalated; I could feel it from inside my personal chamber. Conflict, pain, chaos, destruction, death…_yes, _a part of my subconscious mind hissed. _Join in this orgy of wanton slaughter; release all restraint and rain down annihilation upon your foes._ Ignoring its demands, I concentrated; it seemed that the vanguard of our strike-force had met a Jedi ambush, supported by a detachment of the Galactic Alliance's capital ships and smaller craft. A grin crawled insidiously onto my face; just viewing the situation from within the confines of my mind wherein I held the Force with a death-grip was the pinnacle of amusement for me.

_The fools know not that they have been expected, _I thought. _Nothing ever changes._ Silently, I thanked my own foresight; without that, Captain Onasi would still be on board. Thankfully, I had thought to grant her the position of Interim Viceroy on one of the new additions to our empire –such a fine specimen of femininity was not mine to take, no, but she _was_ the taking of my heir, if he so chose, and for that reason I had determined that she must be preserved. Had she not gone, what was going to happen presently would have proven…fatal.

Finally we emerged from hyperspace, cannons blazing and unleashing the Kindjals to engage our foes. On the stage were the two capital ships in this hammer-blow–twice as many as in any of the other divisions of the task force that had come here to probe our enemies' defenses–the _Pandæmonium_ and my apprentice's vessel, the _Inquisitor_, just as I had planned there to be. Locking on to the most prevalent Force signature that I felt from the enemy fleet, I followed the progress of three Jedi–full Knights by the feel of them–down and into their personal fighter craft, then out of their hangar and, under a Force-induced cover-screen, slip nearly undetected across the battle-stage, moving to dock in the bay of my ship.

_My turn_.

Snapping my eyes open but still tracking the trio's progress, I stood up from my half-lotus position upon the ground. With a thought retrieving my lightsabers, I quickly left my chambers and made swiftly for the bridge. Getting there within seconds, I paid no attention to the commanding officer–a weak weasel of a man, Moff Jin Ceros–kneeling before me, nor to his formal and perfectly deferent utterance of "my lord" in address, instead walking unabated to the edge of the walkway, pretending to gaze upon the carnage of the battle for several seconds before pivoting on my heel. "Moff Ceros," I began in a deceptively soft tone. "Why, pray tell, is it possible for three Padawans to slip aboard this ship undetected? Is it the failure of one of your subordinates, or simply the negligence of an arrogant and incompetent commander who pays no mind to the policy of regular and total security coverage?" I narrowed my eyes dangerously; the worm visibly gulped in apprehension. "The penalty for failure is death, Ceros. You know this, and yet you continue to do so–you persist in the act. Do you think my patience is infinite? My judgement lenient? Do you think me merciful, that you seem to believe you may fail me over and over again and from it not receive the consequent punishment?" The weak, spineless man quailed and sputtered where he stood, trying to formulate coherent speech so that he might employ guile and hope to ease my ire. That is not to say that had he spoken clearly, he might have convinced me to spare him; simply that it gave him hope. But I could not abide it; therefore, I chose to speak just as I sensed that he had regained enough of his wits to plea for his life. "Order all on-board troops to the hangar bays, and lock down all the elevators save the main. Make inaccessible any other ways of travelling between decks–have the ladders and maintenance tubes watched or trapped, for example. Create a chokehold such that the way to the bridge remains accessible enough that the Jedi do not feel the need to employ the Force, the outcome of which is more nebulous than the Uncharted Regions, but not enough that they reach here fresh or unharmed. Am I clear? Are my orders transparent and simple enough for you not to fail me again?" He nodded mutely. "Good. Then see to it, Ceros. For your own sake. Now, leave us."

I turned back to regarding the cold, empty vacuum of space, set ablaze with both laser and phaser fire and explosions of dozens of fighter craft as they dodged and wove an intricate web of death and vendetta, not acknowledging the worm leaving the bridge–though at that, I at last allowed another smile onto my face. At last, it was time for the three Jedi to prove their worth. I concentrated.

_End Turn. Your move, _Jedi_…_

_Jet Skywalker_

"Jet," Naira called. "I can feel his presence on this ship…"

"Where is he?" I asked urgently.

"The bridge…" she replied unsteadily. "So much darkness and malice…such power…do you _honestly_ think we _really_ have a _chance_ against him?"

"Of course we do," I said. "The Light will always supersede the Dark Side." Covertly, I scrutinized her, assessing; we were classmates, she and I, and we had known each other for a long time, so I rationalized that I should be able to see exactly how shaken she was by the presence of the Sith Lord on this ship. It didn't take much sight to realize that she was beautiful–which I did once again, for what seemed like the hundredth time–with her long brown hair, stunningly luminous green eyes, skin that held a pallor that came from studying books indoors for many years, her statuesque, lithe form, her…generous…endowments…I shook those thoughts from my head, only just then realizing how far down my eyes had travelled and bringing them back up to her face; ordinarily, she would have noticed my wandering gaze and socked me in the arm for it, but the fact that she didn't this time gave me a bad feeling. "Hey," I coaxed, placing my hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry; you've got a Skywalker on your side." At that, she glared and finally slugged me. "Now _there's _the Naira Karr _I _know," I laughed. "Come on. We've got Sith to deal with." I ignited my blue lightsaber to punctuate my words, and in return she ignited her green one. "Árpád, you coming?" I called.

"If you two are done mooning at each other like you're in a bad Coruscant soap opera, then yes, I'm coming," the Chiss Jedi Sentinel huffed, igniting his yellow lightsaber. "And I thought _The Solos _was bad…'The Consular and the Guardian.' Someone please shoot me."

"Thought you'd never ask," a synthesized voice said acerbically, firing a high density purple beam from the shadows of the hallway leading out of the hangar. Unable to dodge in time, Árpád threw up a wall of Force energy that would have slowed a blaster bolt to a sufficient degree for less instinctual reactions to be implemented; the strange purple beam sliced through the shield and vaporized our friend where he stood, the lightsaber falling to the ground and deactivating. Naira and I just stood there for a minute, shocked and stunned at the sudden turn of events, but were quickly shaken from our reverie when more of those beams–and a few blue ones–came flying towards us; it was all either of us could do to bring our lightsabers to bear in time.

I Force Jumped over to the strange men in black armor, bringing my lightsaber down and cleaving the one who fired the shot that killed Árpád first, following by throwing my weapon across the corridor and decapitating another, catching the hilt of the armament and turning to bring it across another armored man. I turned to continue the battle, only to find them spinning in the air or scrambling for their rifles, courtesy of Naira, giving her the opening to join the sortie and eliminate the strange Sith with weapons and technology more powerful and deadly than anything the Triumvirate could bring to bear. Still, through the Force, Naira and I consoled each other that this would be it–after all, there are always only two, save with Darth Krayt, and this new Sith Lord had given no indication that the Sith had any more than two Force users at their disposal, him included, under his leadership.

Once all the soldiers lay dead, Naira turned her worried gaze first to the singe mark and fallen lightsaber that had once been one of our best friends, then to me. "I didn't sense the soldiers," she began. "That is why Árpád died–I did not detect the one who killed him when I searched the ship for life, using the Force! The Sith Lord–Darth Lucifer–is using his connection with the Force to render my own abilities to sense life through communion with it obsolete; his dark presence is superseding every other Force signature on this ship!"

Now, I obviously couldn't look in a mirror right then, but I'm sure I went pale at what she said. Naira is exceptionally strong in the Force, not to mention extremely perceptive, so for some Sith Lord to be able to eclipse her connection to the Force meant that that Sith Lord was probably someone you did not want to mess with, like the old stories about Darth Nihilus, the Sith who subsisted entirely on Force energy. "Listen to me, Naira. No matter how strong he is, he's only one man. Not even he cannot stand against two of the Jedi Academy's top students, especially not together, and especially not when we have the power of the bond of friendship to help us!" I reassured her. "Come on, now; we need to get to the bridge," I said, dragging her by the arm towards the main elevator and going up to the top. When the door opened, we stood face to face with another squadron of black-armored foot soldiers wielding unfamiliar weapons, only now already assembled in a two-rank phalanx formation, rifles leveled. Igniting our lightsabers quickly, we ventured once more into the fray.

We finally reached the bridge of the massive dreadnought, having fought through several dozen soldiers to get to this point. And whilst we fought for our lives, it was clear that the cloaked figure who Naira assured me was the Sith Lord we were after on this mission had simply been standing here, on the bridge, staring out at the battle raging through the emptiness of space the entire time. Buoyed up at the prospect that we had reached him at long, long last, I felt myself catching my 'second wind' as I gazed upon him. Feeling as though this was the final fight this mission entailed–and having Naira's assurance that she was, in fact, in a state of physical exhaustion sufficiently mild for her to be able to take care of herself during this fight–I stepped forth and jabbed an accusing finger in Darth Lucifer's general direction. "Lucifer, Dark Lord of the Sith! We have you cornered! You cannot win against both of us! Surrender peacefully, and the Jedi High Council will be merciful!"

A low chuckle filled the dimly-lit bridge, the dark figure's shoulders clearly heaving as the expression of mirth steadily grew in volume and intensity until it turned into a full-on maniacal laugh, bone-chilling and evil. When he calmed down, the figure turned on his heel and faced them, his visage shadowed by the hood of his long black cloak, though a smirk was just barely visible. "Oh, how unbearably _adorable,_"he derided. "A Jedi telling _me _to surrender; but what really gets me is how he says that I cannot stand against them both on my own. So tell me, Little Jedi," he said in a menacing, malicious hiss as he removed his hood. "How exactly do you conclude that I am unable to annihilate you both _instantaneously_?"

I was unable to suppress an astonished and horrified gasp; before me was the very image of what the Dark Side could do to a body. His skin was stony-pale, black veins showing through in certain places wherein the skin looked translucent, his hair long and darker than the void beyond the viewing port, his features sharp, angular, _cruel_, his height almost towering over mine, thin, with black circles around his eyes as if from sleep deprivation and a pair of eyes that glowed a virulent, sickly-looking yellow color. Clothed in uninterrupted black, his was beyond the image of the prototypical Sith Lord, and for the first time in this mission, I truly doubted that we were going to survive.

_Darth Lucifer_

The expression on young Skywalker's face was beyond priceless; it was always so incredibly rewarding, that reveal. Though a more vain person than I would name him a hypocrite were they in my state. And truly, he was not much to look at–broad shoulders, lean but obviously heavily muscled, sandy-haired and slightly scruffy, a less petulant image of Ben Skywalker all wrapped up in one of the brown quasi-monastic robes the Jedi favored. His friend, though, was a true beauty–tall, lean, with lasciviously wide hips and a bust just as voluminous and voluptuous, long, luxurious brown hair, green eyes, aristocratic features that seemed an amalgam of all the most attractive features of the women who posed in the kind of lewd publications that were widespread and sold in abundance in Hutt space, tantalizing lips and nubile limbs that were obvious even beneath the bulky, mostly shapeless Jedi robes. It was a shame that this was to be the initiation of Stage Two; else, I would humiliate the last Skywalker, get her to join my…retinue willingly, then kill him at last–for she _was_, according to my foresight, presented with a choice to join my harem, my heir's or to join both of ours. The thought of it made the power of the Dark Side I held within me quiver in lustful expectation.

As it stood, however, I could still bring the upstart Jedi of an upstart lineage to his knees in humiliation, and who was I to deny myself _that_ abstract pleasure? This in mind, I reached into my cloak with both hands and drew out my twin lightsabers, shivering imperceptibly as they ignited with the familiar serpentine hiss that the red color crystal caused them to emit. Concentrating, I laughed as the soon-to-be pleasure slave went down with a cry, clutching at her skull as I roughly and painfully violated her mind. "Like it?" I asked rhetorically, with an intentionally infuriating edge of glibness. "It's a superior implementation of the same principle as the famous 'Jedi mind trick'; only, instead of gently and subtly influencing her mind, my technique…rapes it, I guess you could say." I grinned at Skywalker standing there, knuckles turning white as he clutched his lightsaber; this was just too easy. "Ah, I can taste your anger, your _hatred_, Little Jedi. Give into it…" I goaded. "Strike me down! Let your anger build; weaponize your hatred! It's the only chance you have of defeating me!" With that I advanced swiftly. I dashed to him and brought both my lightsabers to bear on his head in a downward striking motion, which he moved to block, but it was too late; I had him on the defensive.

Pushing forth and breaking his guard, I followed with an almost savage flurry. What followed was a display of acrobatics and dexterity wherein Skywalker was hard-pressed to break even, the blades of our lightsabers blurring with the swiftness with which we swung them. It was almost time for my apprentice to make his move, however, and so I needed to end this quickly. Noticing how focused he was on evading my blade, I let loose with a massive torrent of Force Lightning, catching him off-guard and quickly filling the area with the unique odor of burning flesh.

A savage smile made its way onto my face unbidden; seeing the Jedi writhing on the floor, _wriggling _like a worm in what was surely indescribable agony, filled me with such immense satisfaction that I could not _help_ myself. Thankfully, this played right into my plan; I released the element of violation within my attack upon the Consular's mind, instead filling it with the perverse glee I felt at this Skywalker _upstart's _low threshold for pain, along with the exultation that fills a Force user whenever they employ the Dark Side which, to the uninitiated (read: non-Sith) would feel like intense pleasure of a sexual nature. This was good; it would make her fall from the Light far easier for myself or my heir or both of us to effect in the future, and efficient facilitation is something I have always praised quite highly.

_Naira Karr_

"You _feel _it, don't you? The sheer _power _of the Dark Side of the Force?" asked the Sith Lord, Darth Lucifer. I nodded once in response; the virulence of that exquisite taint had my undergarments drowning, despite my best efforts to resort to my Jedi training. I watched, becoming aroused as my best friend of sixteen years writhed upon the metal floor of the darkened Command Bridge, bolts of energy racing in short spurts across the surface of his skin in reaction to the _torrents _of bluish-white Force Lightning this servant of the Dark Side was releasing unto him _with one hand_; all I could feel, all I could see in that act of torture, with that sick, self-satisfied grin plastered upon his face, but boredom in his corrupted yellow eyes, was the _power_; the _dominance_;the _control _that was the Dark Side as manifested within him.

From my nether regions came a mélange of different, unfamiliar sensations and emotions–lust, lasciviousness, nymphomanic abandon…the list goes on; and it took every last _ounce_ of my Jedi training-reinforced willpower to resist the urge to pledge myself to him in the most perverse and patriarchy-reinforcingly submissive way I could think of, so that I might serve him and know but a _fraction _of that strangely erotic power that belonged to the Dark Side. I had to remember myself; I was a Jedi Consular, strong in the Force, first-class diplomat trained by some of the greatest masters of the New Jedi Order. I had to oppose the will of this…_infidel_; but still, I knew, in that instant, why so many Jedi had in the past betrayed the Light and accepted the destructive seduction of the Dark Side of the Force.

I struggled to my knees, then finally stood shakily upon my feet. Igniting my green lightsaber once more, I planted my feet apart in a balanced stance, then, with both of my hands, brought the weapon up to bear upon the Sith Lord. "Let…him…go!" I managed, struggling to get each word out amidst the whirling torrent of emotions and sensations whirling in my brain. "NOW!"

Darth Lucifer looked at me quizzically, cocking his head to the side in what I knew had to be bemused irritation. "'Let him go'?" he asked. "That's it? You've got nothing more imaginative than _that _overused phrase? Ah, well. I suppose the Jedi aren't recruited for their originality–quite the opposite, actually. I suppose you'll be offering yourself for his life, next?"

"If that's what it takes," I emitted through clenched teeth.

"How predictable," he sighed. "But you see, I've already won." Another grin, this one wide, arrogant, haughty, vindictive, predatory and malicious beyond the qualities of any previous expression of mirth, emerged upon his face as he leered at me with an almost-invisible clinical detachment behind his gaze. "Mark my words, _Naira Karr._ The Jedi Order will not fall; it shall be burned, razed to ashes, the proverbial ground salted so that nothing may grow there again. You have my oath on it."

At that instant, the world went white. The other Sith capital ship, the _Inquisitor_, came up alongside the flagship and fired its weapons upon the Command Deck of the dreadnought, the bursts hitting their target and causing it to explode with a concussive blast and a blinding flash. I saw nothing more.

When next I regained consciousness, Jet was carrying me upon his shoulders to our SR-96 snub fighters, bleeding profusely, the ship consuming itself with explosions. Apparently, Darth Lucifer's apprentice had taken the opportunity to promote himself to his master's position and had targeted both the primary and the critical systems of the Sith dreadnought, crippling them and sending the ship into a destructive tailspin. Barely cognizant, I somehow managed to pilot my fighter out of the hangar bay and get clear just before the vessel exploded, together with Jet, beneath the Force-shroud in which the three of us, now only two, had approached the flagship. I wanted to mourn the death of our friend, Árpád, as soon as we were clear, but there was far too much turmoil when it came to my emotions to focus on one clear thing save getting Jet back to our side so that he could receive adequate medical care. One thing was for certain, however–when we quit the field, I would have _a lot _to meditate about.

_Darth Lucifer_

The _Pandæmonium_ was lost, completely sundered; I could barely contain my jubilation. _It worked! _My plan had actually _worked!_ Furor had taken the bait hook, line and sinker, and had betrayed me as soon as his little toady, Ceros, had reported my 'occupied' state, not only trying to kill me, but destroying the entire vessel in the process! Now I didn't have to worry about the absence of a body; the search and recovery crew would find only debris and unidentifiable organic tissue when it was all over.

Speeding away from the scene in my specially-commissioned D-04 Crysknife, I allowed myself an internal celebration and a small, tight smile as I punched my destination's coordinates into my hyperdrive's NavCom, then made the jump to light-speed. Next stop: Korriban; my purpose:

To retrieve my wayward bastard-son.


End file.
